"Revenge?" Howard gets his feet under him and tries to ignore the way those words send a chill up his spine. Maybe it's just the way all that blood is cooling on him. He glances back down at Eponine, at the strands of black hair matting into the head wound. She's dead, she's definitely dead. Her skin looks the color of dried bone is the dim light. A lock of hair near her mouth is perfectly still, creepily so, like a photograph, whereas if she were alive it would be rustling back and forth with her breathing.

"Make it...make it fast..."

But Howard doesn't intend to stick around and see if Lindsey follows his request. He jolts upwards, straightening his legs despite the screaming in his thigh, and slams his hand down on the windowsill. An impaling shard of glass erupts all the way from his palm through between his second and third knuckle. He swings his legs over the sill and starts to stumble and run out of the building, away from Lindsey, hoping he's not being followed.